


ferris wheels carried us away

by distira



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-10
Updated: 2011-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:23:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distira/pseuds/distira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for <a href="http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/2971.html?thread=529563#t529563">this prompt</a> at <span><a href="http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/"><b>footballkink2</b></a></span>.</p><p>iker and thiago at the sub-21 Euro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ferris wheels carried us away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meretricula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meretricula/gifts).



_hows denmark_

"Who're you texting?" Iker's head pops up from the seat in front of Thiago. He slides his phone into his pocket automatically, far too used to Rafa and Jona grabbing it and reading all his texts out loud to play it safe. Iker's Mohawk is flattened in the back, but a tuft of it is sticking up in the front.

"Rafa," Thiago tells him.

Iker nods and crosses his arms against the back of the seat, resting his head on his folded hands. "Don't stop on my account," he says, grinning. "I won't even read over your shoulder."

Thiago snorts but pulls his phone back out of his pocket anyway. _good miss u tho_ , he taps out. He sends it and puts his phone away again.

"De Gea sleeping?" Thiago asks, nodding towards the seat next to Iker, where the keeper's face is half-pressed against the window.

"Yep," Iker says. "It's not even that long of a ride, you'd think he could stay awake."

"To do what, entertain you?" Thiago asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes!" Iker picks his head up indignantly. "Exactly. To entertain me. Why do you think we have matching haircuts?"

"Uh," Thiago says. He's tired. His phone buzzes. _didn't look like it when u were celebrating w/iker after the game ;) i like his hair btw_ is Rafa's text. "Rafinha likes it," he tells Iker.

"Likes what?"

"This," Thiago says, reaching out and tugging on the front of Iker's Mohawk. "The matching haircut." Iker beams and swats at Thiago's hand.

"He has good taste," Iker says. Thiago twists his wrist and Iker tilts his head to the side, following Thiago's hand. "What do you think?"

Thiago shrugs. "It's flat in the back."

"It's the stupid headrest," Iker agrees. Thiago lets go of Iker's hair, but Iker keeps his head tilted.

"You could take it off, give it to David," Thiago suggests. Iker grins and busies himself tugging on the headrest until it comes loose.

"Hold his head," Iker commands. Thiago grumbles but complies, holding David's head away from the window while Iker situates the headrest against it. "All good," Iker says when he's done, and Thiago leans David's head against the headrest, wedging it against the window. David snores gently. "He looks comfortable."

"Mmhmm," Thiago agrees.

"But now I have no headrest," Iker continues. Thiago reaches for him and flicks his cheek.

"You were just complaining about it!"

"I know, it wore me out. Now I'm tired," Iker explains. He grins at Thiago. Thiago grins back. "Nobody's sitting next to you, right?"

Thiago shakes his head. "Guess not," he says.

"Awesome," Iker says. He gets up and moves back, nudging Thiago's thigh with his knee. "Move over?"

Thiago laughs. "You're just like Rafinha," he says, shifting over to the window seat. Iker settles next to him and before Thiago can say anything else, Iker has his cheek pillowed on Thiago's shoulder.

"Well, you love Rafa, right?" Iker asks.

"Of course," Thiago says without a heartbeat's pause, frowning at the possibility of it even being a question. "Why can't you sleep on David's shoulder?"

"If I'm just like Rafa, then you love me too," Iker says. He spreads his hands out and shrugs. "Logic. Also David's shoulder is too bony."

They stay that way for the remainder of the bus ride. Thiago holds himself still even when his neck cramps, careful not to move and wake Iker up.

Practice with la Roja isn't like practice with Barca.

This is true for a lot of reasons but the most important one, to Thiago, anyway, is that Rafa isn't there.

It's not like he's completely alone; there are other Barcelona players there. He stretches with Bojan for a few days and sometimes he warms up with Martín, but it's not the same as having Rafa with him. He's not close with Bojan and Martín the way he's close with Rafa and Jonathon. (If he's being honest with himself, he's not really close with them at all, but they have a club in common, and sometimes that's more important.) He misses having Rafa with him, Rafa who knows him better than he knows himself, who can tell how he's doing by the way he breathes or the way he passes the football. They text of course; Thiago texts Rafa at least five times a day, sending him pictures of the training camp and the stadiums, and whenever he comes back to his phone after practice or a match, there's always a message waiting for him, a _good luck_ or a _that pass was dirty keep it up_.

"Is your phone glued to your hand or something?" Iker asks one day in the locker room.

"Well I'm not a keeper, so it wouldn't really matter," Thiago shrugs.

"I bet you bring it on the field," Iker says. "You put it in your sock or something and sneakily text Rafa when the ball's on the other side of the field."

"Would that be a problem?" Thiago asks, a tiny bit defensive.

"Nah, man," Iker shakes his head. "I get it, you miss him. It's all good."

"Yeah?"

"Sure," Iker nods. "I mean, Javi and Ander aren't my brothers, but if they weren't here, I'd be texting them every two minutes, so. I got ya."

Thiago throws his boots into his bag and zips it up. "Thanks, man," he says, and they walk out to the bus together. Iker sits with Ander and Thiago sits alone, but after a few minutes, Thiago's phone buzzes.

When he pulls it out of his sweatpants pocket, it isn't Rafa like he'd expected. _u can text me too if u want_ is the message from an unknown number. Thiago half-stands, looking over the rows of seats. Iker, three seats ahead of him, has his phone open in his lap.

 _howd you get my #??_ he asks, sitting back down. The response comes a few seconds later. _team sheet in the locker rm_ is followed rapidly by _am i as entertaining as rafa_ and _will u text me during games_.

Thiago laughs and leans against the window. _not yet,_ he taps out. _but youve got potential, we'll see._ He hits 'send' and lets his eyes slide closed, content to doze for the rest of the ride.

They win their second group stage match without a problem, all but sending them through to the semifinals. They win and it's sunny and hot and the scoreboard says Spain 2 – 0 Czech Republic. Thiago finds himself sucked into the circle of his teammates, celebrating, and he smiles as wide as he can. He spreads his arms out and presses himself into the mass of his teammates. His face is smashed against Iker's shoulder and when he inhales, it smells like sweat and victory.

Iker turns to him once the mass of players starts to disperse and they hug. Iker crows with laughter and Thiago laughs along with him until they pull apart and jog off the pitch, side by side.

"It's gonna be us," Iker tells him before they get to the locker rom.

"Damn straight," Thiago agrees. He isn't quite sure what 'us' is, if 'us' is Iker-and-Thiago or if 'us' is la Roja, but it doesn't matter because he's sure it's true.

He calls Rafa that night, when he's alone in the room for a few minutes.

"Hey," Rafa answers when he picks up. He sounds sleepy, and Thiago can practically see him sprawled out on the sofa, a video game controller near the bend where his legs meet his side and the imprint of the pillow on his cheek.

"Hey, sorry," Thiago says, speaking quietly into the phone. "Go back to sleep."

"No, 'm up now. Wanna talk to you anyway," Rafa mumbles, and Thiago can't stop the smile that tugs on the corner of his mouth. "Good game, man. Semifinals!"

"Thanks," Thiago says. "I take it you've been watching?"

"Why would I ever do that," Rafa deadpans. "It's not like you’re the best player I know or anything." Thiago hears fabric rustle and knows Rafa's sitting up, moving the controller, and laying back down in the other direction.

They talk about nothing for a while, about how Rafa needs to go grocery shopping and about Jona, and then Rafa asks, "So tell me about Iker?" and Thiago doesn't know what to say.

"We text, sometimes," he says finally. He's never not known what to say to Rafa before.

"And you celebrate with him," Rafa prompts. "I saw you, after the game."

"Oh, uh. That was. I mean, you weren't there, you know?" Thiago's words trip over themselves. He runs a hand through his hair.

"Are you replacing me?" Rafa teases.

"No!" Thiago protests vehemently. "No, Rafinha, shut up, you know that won't ever happen."

"I know," Rafa says. "I'm just teasing. I think it's good that you have Iker. Now you have more friends than just me."

"And Jona," Thiago points out.

"Jona likes me better," Rafa says, matter-of-fact. "So it's a good thing you have Iker, now you won't be lonely."

There are plenty of things Thiago wants to say, the most important of which being _but I don't have Iker the way I have you_ , but he doesn't, because Rafa already knows.

They go bowling the next day. The whole team gets off the bus wearing RFEF track pants and polos and Thiago feels awkward tying up a pair of bowling shoes that he's sure a hundred other people have worn. They're flat, no arch support. He misses his sneakers.

He looks to Iker to be his partner, but Iker's already matched up with David. They high five and Iker raises his eyebrows at Thiago, every inch a challenge. Thiago accepts with a nod, and then stands on his tiptoes to look out at the mass of his teammates tying their shoes.

"Bo," he calls, waving his arm. "Bo!"

Bojan looks up. "Bo, come be on a team with me," Thiago says. "Against them." He points at Iker and David. Bojan takes a few steps forward, shrugging a little bit. "Come on," Thiago coaxes. "Against Iker." David's standing right behind him, but Thiago gestures towards Iker instead.

Iker, for all his talk, is a terrible bowler. He throws gutter balls most of the time, and when he doesn't, he only gets one pin down.

"Let me show you how it's done," Thiago says, picking up his ball. "You'd be better off with the granny bowl, seriously." He gets the last remaining pin down and throws his arms up, crowing in victory. He high-fives Bojan.

"What's the granny bowl?" Iker asks suspiciously, stepping up again.

"Hold it with both hands," Thiago tells him. "Then just push it forward. Hey, can we get him bumpers? I think he needs bumpers."

Iker throws another gutter ball. "I have too much swag for this game," he declares as David steps up. David is good, good enough that he and Iker are beating Thiago and Bojan despite Iker's total lack of prowess. "It can't handle me."

"Really? 'Cause I thought you just sucked," Thiago laughs.

"Nah, baby, I only suck your dick," Iker leers, and he's joking, of course he's joking, Thiago _knows_ he's joking, but that doesn't stop the rush of heat he feels pooling in his belly.

Bojan saves him from having to say anything. "I hope you're better at sucking dick than bowling," he cuts in.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Iker winks, his attention on Bojan now, and Thiago relaxes a tiny bit.

"Hey, it's your turn," David says, and Thiago isn't sure who he's talking about until David nudges his shoulder.

Thiago bowls his first gutter ball since the time he went with Rafa when he was twelve. Rafa had been losing, which had suited Thiago just fine until he saw the way Rafa's lower lip was trembling a little bit when he looked at the scoreboard. He threw the gutter ball on purpose.

He's not sure if this one is on purpose or not.

"I thought you were supposed to be good at this game," Iker teases as he sits back down. Thiago shrugs.

"Can't get 'em all," he says, and then he pulls out his phone to send Rafa a quick text: _im screwed_.

Thiago's settled in for an early night, stretched out on the hotel room bed wearing sweats and an old t-shirt (he thinks it might be Rafa's but he isn't positive), when he hears a knock at the door. When he pulls it open, Iker grabs his wrist and tugs him out into the hallway.

"The fuck?" Thiago demands. Iker's hand is slightly sweaty. Thiago doesn't tug his arm back right away.

"I'm hungry," is the only explanation Iker gives as he drags Thiago down the hallway and into a stairwell.

"Too hungry to take the elevator?" Thiago asks, laughing.

"Nobody can see us," Iker says. "Someone might see us in the elevator. They put cameras in there."

Thiago doesn't bother to point out that there are probably cameras in the stairwell, too. Iker's sneakers echo with every step. Thiago's only wearing socks, and he reaches out more than once to grab the wall with his free hand to stop himself from slipping.

The kitchen staff recognize Iker.

"Is this where you come every night?" Thiago asks. "We all thought you were off finding hot Danish hookers."

Iker snorts. "I don't go for Vikings," he says.

"Really? Seemed like your type," Thiago teases.

"Nah, man, you got me pegged all wrong. I like hot Brazilians who were born in Italy." Iker wiggles his eyebrows and winks at Thiago.

"Danish hookers are probably easier to come by," Thiago points out.

"Yeah, hot Italian-Brazilians are kind of rare," Iker agrees. "It's a good thing I already found one!" He flicks powdered sugar from the doughnut he's eating onto Thiago's cheek.

"Sure," Thiago laughs, wiping the sugar off. He's pretty sure he just makes it worse. "Whatever you want to think."

"Damn straight!" Iker says. He takes hold of Thiago's wrist again. "Gotta get back before they do a room check."

Before he goes to bed, Thiago notices Iker's fingerprints in powdered sugar on his forearm.

"Have you hooked up with him yet?" Rafa asks the next time they talk on the phone.

"What? It's not like that," Thiago says, too quickly. He puts his bag on his shoulder and heads out of the hotel, trailing the rest of the team towards the bus.

"Yeah but you want it to be," Rafa says.

"How would you know?" Thiago asks.

"Because I'm your brother," Rafa points out. And then, "You look at him like you look at me."

Thiago puts his game bag under the bus and goes to find a seat. He takes the empty one in the back, with three across, and settles himself against the window.

"I don't," he says. "Rafa."

"I know, I know, there's no one like me," Rafa sing-songs. "But come on, you know I'm right."

"You're never right," Thiago says automatically, even though it's a blatant lie.

"Invite me to the wedding," Rafa laughs.

"Your invitation is going to get lost in the mail," Thiago tells him. "I gotta go. Are you gonna watch?"

"Don't be stupid," Rafa tells him. Thiago laughs and hangs up.

"Hey," Iker drops down into the seat next to him. "How's Rafa?"

"He's not the only person I talk to," Thiago says. Iker raises his eyebrows. "Jona," Thiago points out.

"Totally doesn't count, he's basically related to you," Iker says.

"How would you know?" Thiago asks.

"Twitter," Iker says. He nudges Thiago's shoulder with his own. "Don't be stupid, I know you have a brain in there. Being pretty didn't get you this far." He smacks Thiago's forehead gently.

Thiago blinks a few times. "Wow, déjà vu," he says. He runs a hand through his hair.

"Huh?" Iker asks, confused.

"Nothing," Thiago says. He shakes his head. "Hey, speaking of Twitter, c'mere." He pulls his phone out of his pocket.

"Like this," Iker says, tilting their heads together. "Now pretend to sleep."

"Why?" Thiago asks.

"Why not?" Iker responds, and Thiago can't argue, so he complies. He puts the picture on Twitter before they get off of the bus. Rafa texts him a few minutes later. _stop sleeping and get ur head in da game_. Thiago laughs. _which game_ , he asks.

Rafa texts him back as they stand up to get off of the bus at the stadium. _both_.

When Iker gets subbed off, Thiago's stomach starts to sink. Ten minutes later, when he looks up and there's only ten minutes left in the match, he looks to the subs bench, wishing Rafa was there because seeing Rafa would- Thiago's not sure exactly what seeing Rafa would do, actually, but he knows that seeing Rafa makes him run faster and push harder, even when his muscles ache.

But Rafa's not there and when Thiago looks over at the bench, he sees Iker punching Ander on the shoulder. Iker looks back at the field after a second, though, and he flashes Thiago a thumbs up before he mimes smacking Thiago.

"Head in the game!" Iker shouts onto the field. "Goooo, Thiago!" He starts elbowing Ander until Ander starts cheering along with him.

Thiago runs faster.

Adrián scores in the 89th and Thiago thinks, okay. Thinks, this can happen. Thinks, we're going to the final.

They do. Impossibly, gloriously, they do. They win 3-1 after extra time and Thiago crows in victory, pressing himself into the cheering pile of his teammates.

"I knew it!" Iker yells, delighted, over the noise of the celebrating. "Didn't doubt it for a second! Man, you were magic. I might have to call you that now, Magic."

"You knew it the whole time?" Thiago asks, laughing.

"Of course, Magic, I told you it would be us," Iker says. He slings an arm around Thiago's shoulders and bounces up and down.

"I don't know how I feel about Magic," Thiago laughs, too high on the victory to be disappointed about which 'us' Iker chose.

"I miss you," Thiago tells Rafa

"I know," Rafa says. "But you'll be home soon, right?"

"Yep," Thiago says. "Just the final left."

"If you come home without a trophy, I'll lock you out," Rafa warns.

Thiago is napping when his phone buzzes, the vibrate setting making it wiggle around on the bedside table. It's a text from Iker. _come to mine??_ Thiago scrubs a hand over his face and blinks at the phone a few times. _k what rm_ , he asks. Iker's reply comes a few seconds later, so Thiago pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and heads down the hall.

"It's open!" Iker shouts when Thiago knocks on the door, so he lets himself in. Iker's in the middle of the room, scrolling through his iPod.

"Hey," Thiago says. "What's up?"

"I was thinking," Iker says, "that we need a badass celebration."

"Okay," Thiago says. He flops down onto one of the beds. He's pretty sure it's Iker's because the sheets are a mess and there are pillows everywhere. "Celebration for what?"

"Dude," Iker says, holding his hands up. "Are you crazy? Winning the Euro, duh."

"Isn't there like, protocol for celebrating that?" Thiago asks. "The bus through Madrid ringing any bells?"

"Not that celebration," Iker says. He goes back to his iPod. "Us, on the field. Like when we score, but better."

"It gets better than scoring goals?" Thiago jokes.

"Have you ever gotten laid?" Iker leers. He ignores Thiago's squawk of indignation and puts his iPod into the speakers. "Anyway, I was thinking we could do a dance."

"A dance? Like that Copa America ad?" Thiago asks.

"No, we're not Brazilian," Iker says. "Well, you are, but that doesn't mean we're going to tango."

"They tango in Argentina," Thiago points out. "Not Brazil."

"Whatever, Wikipedia," Iker shrugs. He presses 'Play' and the club mix of a song Thiago vaguely recognizes starts blaring through the room. Iker starts dancing; Thiago leans back on his elbows and laughs. Iker's movements are jerky and spastic and it's obvious that he's having fun, but it isn't what Thiago would typically think of as dancing.

"Shut up, you think you're better?" Iker says, stopping his movements with one hand raised in a quasi-salute and his knees bent.

"Damn straight, mothafucka," Thiago says, laughing.

"Let's see it, then," Iker demands. He puts his hands on his hips and stares at Thiago until Thiago stands up. "Shake that money maker!"

Thiago takes a minute to recover from laughing before he starts to move, but he finds the beat as easily as he does in any club and goes with it, grinning smugly at Iker, who catcalls.

"Damn, do you have a secret job as a stripper or something?" Iker asks.

"Hey, don't hate," Thiago says. "You're the one who wanted us to dance for the celebration."

"Yeah, but you're gonna have to pretend to suck because I'll be mad if you make me look bad," Iker tells him.

"There's no denying talent," Thiago shrugs. Iker turns the music off and Thiago sits back down on the end of the bed. Iker takes him by surprise with a half tackle that sends Thiago sprawling back onto the bed, half in a chokehold.

"Promise!" Iker demands, laughing.

"Whatever you want," Thiago says. "I surrender!"

Iker lets him out of the chokehold and rolls over to grab the TV remote. Thiago pushes himself up towards one of the pillows and settles back onto it. Iker turns the TV on and settles down next to him. When Thiago inhales, he can feel their forearms graze each other. He makes sure to take really deep breaths.

"Stretch with me?" David asks Iker before he can pair up with David or Javi at practice. It's their last practice in Denmark, the last day before the final, and this time tomorrow, Thiago will either be wearing a medal around his neck or packing his bags and hoping that Rafa hasn't actually locked him out.

"Sure," Iker agrees easily enough and they wander a few feet away from the group. "On your back, Alcantara!"

Thiago laughs and lays down, holding up one of his legs. Iker grabs his foot and starts to push back on Thiago's leg. Thiago lets him, relishing the burn in his hamstring when Iker pushes just past his comfort zone.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Iker asks.

"You really can't be quiet for even a few minutes, can you?" Thiago says, not meanly.

"Sorry," Iker shrugs. "You gotta take me the way I am, man, I don't change for anyone."

"Not even a girlfriend?" Thiago asks.

"Dude, no way, fuck that," Iker scoffs. "Nope. Take me or leave me!" He sings the last bit before dissolving into giggles. "Besides, why would I have a girlfriend anyway? I have football."

"You sound like Xavi," Thiago says. "But you have Danish hookers, too, yeah?"

"All the Vikings I could ever want," Iker nods. "And my hot Italian-Brazilian, can't forget about him." He lets Thiago's leg drop and Thiago pulls the other one up. Iker begins to press against him again. It's not like when he stretches with Rafa and Rafa knows exactly how far to push before the stretch starts to hurt more than it should; he has to hold up a hand when Iker pushes too far and then Iker backs off too much.

"So you won't change for your Danish hookers," Thiago says after Iker finds the right pressure for the stretch.

"Nope," Iker says. "So, what're you thinking about?"

"Tomorrow," Thiago says. "Aren't you?"

"Nah, man," Iker says. "I know how that's gonna go."

"Yeah? Enlighten me," Thiago says.

"Easy, we win," Iker says, as if there's no other option. Maybe there isn't, Thiago thinks.

"And then we do our dance, is that it?" He asks.

"Yeah, but shut up, that's a secret!" Iker says. He drops Thiago's leg and looks around furtively. Thiago laughs.

"Okay, okay, sorry!" He says, pulling himself into a sitting position. "Secret's safe. Promise."

"Cross your heart?" Iker asks, his eyes twinkling.

"I'm hurt that you don't trust me," Thiago pouts. "I would never betray you." He laughs and takes Iker's hand when Iker offers to help him up, but he means it.

"So, tomorrow," Rafa says when Thiago answers the phone. Thiago hums a little. "Wanna talk about it?"

"I don't know," Thiago says. He shrugs a little even though Rafa can't see him.

"Don't stress about it," Rafa says, because Rafa always knows what to say. "It's just like. Whatever, you know? You play football. So go play football. I'll be playing on the beach, it'll probably be a better game than yours."

Thiago laughs. "Yeah, I bet you're gonna show me up."

"As usual," Rafa says.

"Shut up," Thiago groans. Rafa laughs.

"Fine, I'll shut up and you can tell me about Iker," Rafa says.

"Dude, seriously?" Thiago complains.

"Dude, seriously?" Rafa mimics.

"Let's talk about tomorrow," Thiago says. "The final. Let's talk about that."

"No, I wanna talk about Iker," Rafa insists, and Thiago can't see him but he knows that he's grinning, satisfied. Thiago rolls over on the hotel room bed and punches the pillow lightly.

"What about him?" He asks.

"You tell me," Rafa says. "Have you gotten your head out of your ass yet?"

"What the fuck, Rafa," Thiago groans irritably.

"For real, though, what's going on with him," Rafa asks.

"Nothing," Thiago says. "Look, we hung out all last night and nothing happened, and then we stretched together this morning and nothing happened, so."

"Hung out, huh?" Rafa asks. "Hung out how?"

"Watching TV in his room," Thiago says. "Can you just drop it already?"

"No," Rafa says. "Hey, you know that Iker isn't me, right?"

"Duh," Thiago snorts. "Why are you reminding me?"

"I can read your mind," Rafa says. "He can't. So like, you might want to try dropping normal-people hints not just me-hints."

"Oh," Thiago says. He blinks a few times. "Uh. What?"

"Asking someone to stretch with you isn't much of a come-on," Rafa points out.

"Except to you," Thiago says.

"Well, yeah," Rafa laughs. "But not to Iker."

Thiago sighs. He can picture Rafa smirking into the phone. "I hate it when you're right."

"Too bad for you, I'm always right," Rafa laughs.

"Shut up," Thiago says.

"Whatever," Rafa says, still laughing. "Go find Iker. And win tomorrow, I'm serious about locking you out."

"Yeah, yeah," Thiago says. Rafa hangs up first.

Thiago isn't tired.

He's usually exhausted by this point in a match, eighty minutes, but there's a goal on the boad for Spain and Thiago isn't tired. He holds his hands out for the ball when Iker offers it and puts it down for the free kick. He looks up to the sky for a second and thinks about Rafa, watching at home, thinks about the swish of the net when the ball hits it, thinks about his celebration dance with Iker.

He scores.

He raises his arms in triumph and yells out of pure joy and energy. The whole team sprints over to him but Iker gets there first and tackles him to the ground.

"Man, you promised not to make me look bad," Iker complains. The rest of the team catches them, piling on top of Iker in an enthusiastic attempt to crush Thiago.

"Hey, that free kick would make anyone look bad," Thiago declares. "Don't hate."

"Truth," Iker says. The rest of the team starts to pick themselves up and they all jog back towards their starting positions. Thiago stands and jumps up and down a few times. Iker follows suit. "Hey, what do we do now?"

"Huh?" Thiago asks. "We play football."

"No, not that," Iker says. "After. To celebrate."

"Oh," Thiago says. "Well, we could." He coughs a little. "We could have our own celebration. Later."

Iker smacks Thiago's shoulder. "Yeah? For real?"

"Yeah," Thiago says. "For real." Iker's grin stretches wide across his face.

"Yeah, man, okay. Cool. Yeah. Let's do it!" Iker laughs. He jogs back to his own starting position.

Thiago rolls his eyes to himself as the whistle blows. He hates when Rafa's right.

Thiago gets caught up by the journalists on the field, smiling and kissing his medal for more cameras than he can count, and by the time he makes it into the locker room, almost everyone else is already changing back into RFEF polos and track pants to get on the bus.

The team cheers when he walks in holding the Man of the Match award and Thiago grins but heads straight for his bag. There's a text waiting from Rafa. _amazing, ur amazing_ , it says. Thiago peels off his sweaty uniform and wraps a towel around his waist. He decides to shower before he replies, high on the victory and still buzzing from the adrenaline.

Iker's the only one left in the showers. Thiago turns the water on in the space next to him and nudges Iker's shoulder.

"Man of the Match! Magic Alcantara!" Iker grins. "Man, that was. That was so good, you know? Amazing. Magic."

Thiago laughs. "Thanks," he says. "Not too bad from your end, either."

"Oh, I know," Iker says. He holds a straight face for about five seconds before he gives up and starts laughing. "Thanks."

"So about that celebration," Thiago starts, but Iker slaps a wet, soapy hand over his mouth before he can continue.

"Before we celebrate I need to ask you something," Iker says. Thiago blinks. "You know that I'm not Rafa, right? Like, that registers in there?" He taps Thiago's forehead with the knuckles of his free hand.

Thiago nods. Iker removes his hand. "Yeah," Thiago says. "I know you aren't Rafa." He narrowly resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"Good," Iker says. "I mean, that means you have to tell me things, right, not just assume I can read your mind, got it?" Thiago nods. "Promise?" Iker winks. He's smiling. Thiago nods again. "That's good, 'cause now we can-" He cuts himself off and smashes his lips against Thiago's.

Iker kisses enthusiastically, all lips and tongue, and it's a little overwhelming at first, but Thiago pushes a hand into Iker's wet Mohawk and licks his way into Iker's mouth and it stops being overwhelming and starts being really good.

"Hey," Iker says, breathless after a few minutes. "Hey, can I?" He drops one hand to Thiago's hip and Thiago tears his eyes away from Iker's lips to nod.

"Yeah," he says, his voice catching when Iker wraps his fingers around his cock. He gets one of his own hands around Iker's cock and they stroke each other under the shower spray. Neither of them last long, keyed up from winning, and Iker laughs when he comes.

"Damn," he says, stepping back to clean himself off. "Magic hands, magic feet, anything else you wanna tell me?"

"Nah, you about covered it," Thiago says, leaning against the tiled wall to catch his breath.

"You know," Iker says as they turn the water off, "if you'da said something earlier, we could've been doing this all tournament. Except in a bed."

Thiago coughs. "Beds are good," he says. "We should try that sometime."

"I mean," Iker grins. "If I use a bed for my Danish hookers, my hot Italian-Brazilian probably deserves the same, don'tcha think?"

Thiago pulls his phone out again on the bus to the airport, most of the way to drunk and with a lapful of Iker, who's red in the face, leading the team in singing, _campeones, campeones_.

 _ur pretty amazing too_ , he tells Rafa. _thx hermanito_.

Rafa texts him back before they get to the airport. _!!!!!_ is followed a second later by _did u hook up w/ iker_ and then _was it good i want details_.

"Sit next to meeeee," Iker says, tugging on Thiago's arm as they board the plane. He turns to Javi. "Javi, hermanito, Javi, switch seats with Thiago," Iker says.

"Why?" Javi asks. He swaps tickets with Thiago anyway.

"Because I'm the captain now!" Iker announces, swaying a little and grabbing Thiago's arm for support. "And Thiago and I have unfinished business."

"We do?" Thiago asks as they head for the boarding gate.

"Yes," Iker confirms. "I wanna see if you have a magic mouth to go with the magic hands and magic feet. Magic." He laughs. "Also, mile high club!"  



End file.
